


Life of a Paper Lantern

by Seraphira



Category: A Streetcar Named Desire - Tennessee Williams
Genre: Other, character expression through lampshades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:51:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9317858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphira/pseuds/Seraphira
Summary: "There are some people who just have no decency, they just steal for fun. Kleptomaniacs, I believe they call them. Well, I could think of a more fitting title. He had his fun, but you know, they lose interest the moment they have what they were wanting for. It’s all in the game, how it’s played, how they love you for an instant in the beautiful, dim moonlight. Never in the morning sunshine, across the bed. And they don’t believe you, afterwards. Night’s good for a lot of things, all the things you can’t do in the light."Blanche's paper lamp reflects upon its life.





	

I never thought. I’m good at that, I think you could say. Lanterns aren’t made for philosophy. We’re made for making things beautiful, we shine and the whole room lights up in pretty colors. I was made for that, in the southern states, by crude hands that could have touched riches in a luckier life. Hmm… sweet dreams. Beautiful dreams, I had then.

I, I’m not sure what I’m doing now. But it must be grand! Yes, must be. I could never do anything else. It’s a little cold here, a little lonely, but I’ll do my thing, and a lamp’s tricks never fail. 

...Please, please let someone want me, to hang over their light and soften the day into something bearable. I’ve only had borrowers, no buyers. In and out and gone. A few dollars rent, not enough to pay for anything. Lamps have to have a little to shine a little, dear! If I had something, something would come of me! I haven’t been kept for long, but that’s only because no one’s been fast enough to catch me, yes?

No. I think someone loved me once. I thought so. He ran his fingers over my folds, scanned my glitter and tassels, but no joy came to his eye, no smile at having me. And I don’t know where he is now, I don’t know where I am now. I wish we were lost together, it is better than being found alone. He bought me anyways. Kept me by his side for a few years. But he was gone when autumn came. He left me behind, can you imagine that! Just when you thought it had been all figured out, that you had a place to be and be loved… but no, after all.

And then I was stolen. You never say that I started it!  _ He _ stole  _ me _ . I went from those beautiful, soft hands to a thief’s. There are some people who just have no decency, they just steal for fun. Kleptomaniacs, I believe they call them. Well, I could think of a more fitting title. He had his fun, but you know, they lose interest the moment they have what they were wanting for. It’s all in the game, how it’s played, how they love you for an instant in the beautiful, dim moonlight. Never in the morning sunshine, across the bed. And they don’t believe you, afterwards. Night’s good for a lot of things, all the things you can’t do in the light.

Lights. I haven’t had a lot of those, recently, not since my buyer. It’s been quite dark in here. I ended up in a small room, covering a bare bulb. They - they had bare everything. Bare wooden floors, bulbs, a curtain covering the door. I say, there’s no excuse for such poor decorations. Give me a few dollars, and I can fix anything, make anything, do anything. Don’t you scoff! We lamps have our ways. What I wouldn’t do for a few dollars… I could fix so much around here. 

There’s some things, ah, something can’t be helped. You try, you really try, and nothing ever comes of it. You put yourself out there, and you reach and you don’t connect, and you fall, and they walk all over you. Lamps aren’t so useful when they’re as dark as their surroundings, ground into the dirt. Hmm. Why, you haven’t said a thing! Don’t you think something of me? You must think something, everyone does. Can’t say I mind, usually, but I do like to be in the center of the room. What? Oh, that’s right. Where was I? 

Where am I? I’m in the room. Small… but not quiet. Very loud. The light is flashing on and off inside me. People are coming and going. Voices, murmuring. Music, playing. How long has this been happening? On, off, on off. Off. Off. Off for a very, very long time. And then I am ripped from the light, and power or no power, there is nothing inside of me, not even the chance of light to brighten me.

Someone screams. Is it I?

The light goes out, and it is darkest inside, where the sun can never reach.


End file.
